


Will she ever feel safe again?

by RavenRambles



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Enjoy the sin, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Hurt & Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, painful word length, ptsd mention, this started out as smut but turned into kind of a plot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 15:12:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7468548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenRambles/pseuds/RavenRambles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Shaw escapes from Samaritan there's only one place she wants to go; home, to her family. She has some trouble adjusting, and sorting out her feelings for a certain hacker, but after Samaritan's defeat they eventually find the time to figure it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will she ever feel safe again?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my friend Dani's birthday which was a couple of months ago, so yes this painful and smutty fanfiction is dedicated to them. Enjoy the sin, you heathen. Also yes I made it that word count on purpose.

“Ms..Shaw!?”

Computer screen and number are forgotten.There is a heavy tension in the air as Finch, Reese, Root and Bear stare in shock and awe towards the doorway; for there Sameen Shaw stands in all of her glory. She’s been missing for what seems like forever, being held by Samaritan (so they hoped) in some unknown facility that is virtually impossible to get to. Finch has to admit he’d just about given up hope and yet here she is, he can hardly believe his eyes. None of them can, really.

“Well, don’t all get up at once” 

Bear is the first to move, practically launching himself at Sameen with a high pitched whine. She kneels down and buries her face against his fur, trying to ground herself. An uneasy hand is kept on the butt of her glock, regardless of how homely his fervent and loving licks feel. 

_ Will she ever feel safe again? _

Time seems to stretch out and there’s a half second that she thinks the escape might have been part of the simulation, a nasty trick to make her give up her secrets but soon she’s standing and being followed by an excited Bear to the computer. Her hand travels over familiar books and mahogany tabletops, the air smells of must and warmth trickles into her cold and tired bones. This is real, she is back with her family. She has to be, right? Reese looks dumbfounded, Root looks like she’s close to tears and Harold?? Harold’s eyes look like an owl’s behind his thick rimmed glasses, his mouth ajar as he watches a ghost traipse around his underground home. This has to be real, she tells herself. No simulation of Samaritan’s could ever fathom such a bug eyed facial expression on Harold Finch. She’d probably have laughed, if she wasn’t the kind of exhausted that you feel in your bones. Still, she needs to be sure.

“Close your mouth, Harold, you’ll catch flies.” She tells him as she examines the computer for signs of a simulation; jumbled letters and backward codes. She’s still not entirely certain, something that she’s sure will haunt her for the rest of her life. There’s a hard edged tiredness to her voice that makes her wince, yet she’s grateful for the reminder that she’s alive. And free. 

_ Will she ever feel safe again?  _

She sees the hand coming at her from the corner of her eye. In hindsight, maybe she should have known that it wasn’t the hand of someone who wanted to do her harm, maybe she should have realised that it wasn’t about to cut her down and tear her apart. In the moment, she reacts. Her body tenses and the hand that was resting protectively on her gun is now aimed directly at the threat before she can even see who it is. At least Reese doesn’t look offended to find her pointing a gun at him. He even apologises. 

“Sameen…” She hears her own name trickle into her brain, slowly like a syrup, and its effect is immediate. She knows that voice; she hears it in her dreams. Her brain finally lets her relax, she becomes aware of how tired and heavy her limbs are and of what hurts where. Her face comes into view and the rest of the world dims to a dull roar as Shaw registers the tears in Root’s eyes and the soft fearful question of ‘am I okay to touch you?’. She nods. A calloused hand gently pries the gun from Shaw’s and replaces it, semi-cold metal exchanged with warm skin.

“Harold. Reese. Bear. I’m going to look after Sameen, you deal with the number.” Root states firmly, her touch endlessly comforting as she herds Shaw towards an open doorway.

“Are you...wearing bunny slippers?” Shaw mumbles against Root’s skin as she’s manoeuvred onto purple bedsheets; she’s practically leaning her body weight onto Root but the woman doesn’t seem to mind. She is happy enough with the nod of confirmation and  hum of appreciation that she receives from Root and smiles, content for the first time in what feels like forever. The sheets feel so good against her feverish skin, Root is stroking her hair and she is back with her family. Back with Root. Her safe place… 

_ Will she ever feel safe again? _

 

Shaw’s eyes snap open in the dark. The dark, why is it dark? She lies very still, taking in her surroundings and cataloging in an attempt to figure out where she is. Dark room, book smell, heavy weight against her right side, soft sheets beneath her. Her hand automatically jumps to her side. No gun. Was she in the sim again? She’s not sure why Samaritan would have changed it but who can understand an asshole AI anyway? Sameen sure can’t. She’s brought back to the present by restless movement next to her and strangled whining vibrates into her collarbone. She makes out her name once or twice before a terrified Root is calling out and sitting straight up in bed. Sameen blinks as a bedside light is turned on and once they’re used to the new light all that she sees is Root’s tear stained face. She hates herself for wondering whether this is part of Samaritan’s game. She quickly looks behind Root’s head at the title of a book and reads it out loud; she desperately wants to be able to read it. She desperately wants this to be real.

“Incendiary bombs: a how to guide?” She’s relieved. Root laughs a little. Bonus.

“Just a bit of light reading. Am I okay to hug you?” Root replies as she wipes at her tears. She’s being very gentle, it would piss Shaw off if it didn’t feel so nice to be treated delicately for the first time since before she was… Well. For the first time in a long time. Shaw nods and Root nestles herself against the woman she’s tried so hard to find, her left ear directly over Sameen’s heart, reminding herself that this is real. Reminding them both that it’s real. They’re here. Together. Root begins to hum a lullaby in time with Shaw’s heartbeat. Together is possibly the sweetest word she’s ever heard.

 

They must have drifted off because when Shaw opens her eyes again she sees a cold grey light pouring in from a window somewhere off to her left and brown tendrils curling their way across her vision. She’s acutely aware of every place that Root is currently touching her, which is a lot since the girl has practically moved to sleeping on top of Shaw during the night. She doesn’t mind, the pressure is nice. Not that she’d tell Root that. Ever. Her hand drifts to the back of her left ear and prods gently, looking for a bandage or wounded flesh. She lets out a soft sigh of relief when she feels nothing but smooth skin and then settles closer to Root; there’s absolutely no way that she’s letting go right now. Her eyes skim what little of the the room she can see from her lying down position in the low light, searching for exits Just In Case. Phantom triggers click in the dark and the walls begin to constrict a little, her breathing hitches and… and… and it is only the quiet murmur of the woman beside her that pulls her back from the brink of a collapse. So she focuses on every piece of her skin that is touching Root’s.

Hand wormed underneath white tank top, fingers splayed against warm abdomen   
  
_ Will she ever feel safe again? _

Rosy cheek against collarbone, brunette coils painting across her chest and tickling against neck.

_ Will she ever feel safe again? _

Long legs tangled, pyjama pants hiked up so that calf touches ankle touches touches touches

_ Will she ever _

“Shaw???” Root’s quiet, sleep-thick voice wanders into her concentration and she lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. She feels every single movement. 

“Sameen?”

Shaw turns her head and her eyes lock with Root’s. They haven’t talked at all, really, about what she went through. About what she’s just escaped from. She opens her mouth to find a place to start and ends there, unable to say a damn thing. Root understands. Of course she understands. The asshole just hums another lullaby and trails her fingers across Shaw’s skin and honestly? She’d kiss Root right there. If. That’s the big one, isn’t it. If she hadn’t done that six thousand seven hundred and fourty one other times, she’d be doing it now. She’d be kissing Root and everything would be fine. As it stands, she can’t bring herself to do it and it frustrates the hell out of her; why is she letting that goddamn machine ruin even this? She balls her fist, eyes unfocusing as she gets dragged back into her mind. She all but shuts down and Root worries. She also understands. She slowly, gently, pulls at Shaw’s hand and laces their fingers.

“Count our fingers, Sameen,” she whispers, her thumb rubbing soothingly against Shaw’s skin. “You’re here with me, count our fingers.”

Shaw opens her eyes again and does as she’s bid. Root is warm against her side and they both have ten fingers, so she’s definitely not dreaming in any way.  _ Not in the simulation _ . She smiles. She goddamn SMILES. Her cheeks feel like they’re on fire and that alone tells her how long it’s been since she’s actually been happy. She turns to look at Root and trails a finger down her cheek. Should it feel this strange to initiate intimacy? Root’s eyes flick to Shaw’s lips. Neither of them seem to breathe.

“Four alarm fire,” She states, twirling a piece of Roots’ hair around her finger as she figures out whether she actually wants what she wants. Whether she even knows what she wants. “You never gave up on me, did you Root?” Root shakes her head against Shaw’s collarbone and then lifts up her head. Their eyes meet. Cliche as it is, time feels slower to Shaw in that moment. Shaw gulps as her eyes flick down to stare at Root’s lips and she almost curses at how juvenile she’s being right now. She doesn’t DO feelings; she just DOESN’T. That’s not how she works. And yet. And yet. This enigma, This puzzle, This  _ conundrum _ of a woman has her acting like how she assumes some stupid teenager with a grade school crush would act. Root moves forward slightly, her face inching slightly closer. Shaw could kiss her, she could. If. The if hangs there between the two women, burning her skin. Shaw tries, she does. She could initiate contact. She moves forward slightly, nerves sinking into her bones. Their lips hover near each other, Root’s eyes begin to close.

And then. 

And then.

Shaw jerks back. She can’t do this. Root closes her eyes and lets out her held breath, then nods slowly and settles back down with her good ear against Root’s chest. The moment passes. They lie in companionable silence as the day dawns around them.   


 

“You were the one I couldn’t kill.” Is what Shaw says, just before they have to get up to start their day. 

“I know” is what Root says, smiling and meshing their fingers again before slipping into her bunny slippers and heading out into the kitchen to make coffee.

 

“I love you.” is what Shaw means, just before they have to get up to start their day. 

“I know” is what Root says.

 

Of course she knows.

\---

Harold is tiptoeing around her and it’s pissing Shaw off. Harold is also leaving phone numbers to reputable psychologists and psychiatrists and therapists in her things. This is also pissing her off. She gets it, she does. She’s been through a trauma, she probably has PTSD and definitely has triggers and she knows that she has problems with figuring out whether she’s in reality or not most of the time. Shaw’s not stupid, she knows these things. However what she really wants right now is for Harold to stop treating her like she’s a broken computer hard drive that needs to be handled with care.

And also, now that she thinks about it, a steak sandwich. She’d really like a steak sandwich.

Reese isn’t much better, but he’s trying not to be so obvious about it. So he’s the lesser of two evils right now. Especially because HE lets her shoot people. 

“Miss Shaw, do you really think that you should be out in the field right now? You’ve just been through what is most probably a very traumatic experience a-” She grits her teeth and digs the earpiece out before shoving it deep into her jacket pocket, making sure to brush a finger over the back of her ear as she does so. Reese side eyes her but doesn’t say anything, which she’s thankful for, before his attention focuses back on the house that they’re about to begin staking out. Of all the numbers the could have gotten, they’d been saddled with one who hardly left their house. Shaw’s stomach rumbles. She REALLY wants that steak sandwich.

“So.”

_ Oh here we go. _ Shaw bites her tongue and wonders if she’s about to get a lecture from the one person she counted on to  _ not _ lecture her. The man hardly talks, she’ll be damned if her life now turns into a television drama where whispering assassins start making sweeping monologues.

“I know that you don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

She doesn’t take her eyes off the house in front of her, her teeth gritting together as she mentally prepares herself for some kind of brotherly shoulder touch. She hates that she has to steel herself for human contact now. It never comes, but she does feel his disbelieving facial expression burning into the side of her face.    
  
“But. I am here, if you ever feel like you do want to talk about it.” Reese stops there and then pulls a twenty from his wallet before slowly sliding it in front of her and holding out his hand for the binoculars. Shaw raises an eyebrow at him and places them in his hand.

“I’ve got this, go get yourself some lunch. Your growling stomach might scare off the mark.” He does that half smirk she’s accustomed to and she takes the money before he changes his mind, slipping into the cold, crisp air of the street. She heads towards the diner that’s a little ways down the road, her instincts on high alert as she weaves through potential threats and keeps her face away from Cameras. Samaritan is still on the loose. Despite it all, a smile tugs at her mouth. Steak sandwich here she comes.

The diner is, thankfully, not very busy. She doubts she’d have been able to handle being closed in by walls of bodies. The place is full enough of people, however, that she decides risking Finch’s nagging is worth having backup if something goes wrong whilst she’s on her own. Not that she thinks something is going to go wrong. She just feels a little bit like a ticking time bomb right now, as if there are cracks in her skin, chinks in her armour. She’s been broken into a thousand pieces over six thousand times and after everything she’s been through since she left Research, she just doesn’t want civilians to suffer. Hence the lifeline.

“Hey, lady, move up the line will ya?” That was his first mistake.

A hand shoves her shoulder roughly. That was his second.

Her reflexes kick in and she’s got her attacker on his belly with his arms behind his back and a gun pressed between his shoulder blades before she can even assess the situation. There’s screaming and people jumping out of the way but it’s Root’s voice in her ear that pulls Shaw back to the present.

_ Will she ever feel safe again? _

“You just assaulted a cop, buddy. Say it, Sameen, trust me.”

Shaw does as she’s told. She repeats Root’s words.

“I served two tours, and now I work for the NYPD, didn’t you see my badge?” She flashes her (stolen) deputy badge at him and then lets him go, adjusting her clothing and then apologising for reacting so violently. He looks shaken. Apologetic. Grateful. He actually apologises. Shaw’s stomach churns. She leaves.

“There’s a place two doors down from you on the right that cooks steak perfectly. Slip in there, Reese has the number covered. Gotta go.” Shaw almost laughs out loud at how well Root knows her, then follows the woman’s instructions. She makes her way back to the car with two steaming steak sandwiches and two large bottles of water. She even gives Reese the change. She hears Harold hum disapprovingly in her ear and roughly swallows her mouthful.

“Don’t fucking start.” She tells him, anger making her words sharp. The earpiece offers a beat of silence before he quietly whispers ‘I won’t.’

The number leaves the house. 

\---

She accidentally beats up Fusco. She doesn’t mean to, she makes sure to let him know that. Men approaching her from behind without telling her still sets her off and Fusco has the unfortunate problem of being the exact same fucking height as Greer. She can’t really be blamed for this. 

_ Will she ever feel safe again? _

Harold yells at her anyway, though. That sucks a lot. She’s still vulnerable from her...episode… so him yelling is the last thing she wants to sit through. Root is right next to her, though, a hand resting gently on her arm. 

So she stays. 

 

She waits. 

 

_ Will she ever feel safe again? _

Harold finishes his lecture and Root drags her by the hand, away to what has now become their shared bedroom. She’s never really shared a bedroom with anybody. It’s… nice. Something else that’s nice is this new hand holding development. Shaw’s past expeditions into other people’s beds never really included the softness of prolonged intimacy. They’d been more about scratching an itch and having fun; after all, when you work for a secret arm of a sinister Government Agency you have to get used to being invisible and unattached. So these snippets in time, these moments where all that exists is her and Root and the feeling of intertwined fingers and the sound of a slightly elevated heartbeat. These moments confound her. Love confounds her. Root? Well, Root confounds her most of all. But it’s nice, it’s really nice. 

“They’re just turned down really low” Shaw mumbles to herself as she watches Root read. Her thumb brushes over the war medal she’s taken to wearing around her neck, the warm metal against her skin reminding her of that little girl. Reminding her she’s still here and she’s still human. She thinks of Fusco, currently in a hospital bed with a sprained wrist and bruised ribs. She thinks of Reese, trying so hard to be respectful of her privacy but so incredibly visibly worried about her. She thinks of Bear, her watchdog who never wants to leave her side anymore. She thinks of bookish Harold, always hovering but meaning well. Then she thinks of Root. Root, Root, Root, her safe place, her anchor, the strange force of nature who flirts at awkward times and seems to know exactly what she’s thinking. Yes, Gen was right. She did have feelings, they were just turned down really low and now? Somehow, without her knowledge, she’s learned how to listen.

\---

They did it, they killed Samaritan. They really fucking did it. Shaw feels… Well she feels elated, or some turned down version of it. Greer sits in a chair in front of her and she’s just had the news from Root in her ear that Samaritan is gone for good. Not only that, but her little found family is all safe. She smiles a predatory smile at Greer who still looks smug in his wrong assumption that Samaritan is still running. In his wrong assumption that Samaritan cared enough to send someone for him. In his wrong assumption that Samaritan cared at all.

“Times up, Greer. You lose.”

_ will she ever feel safe again? _

His face is still smug and her trigger finger itches. She wants to put a hole in his smile but she waits. Soon enough she gets the message she’s waiting for over her ear piece, from The Machine herself no less. The jumble of different voices mesh together to form one of the best sentences she’s ever heard.

_ He’s. Too. Dangerous. Alive. Take. Your. Revenge. Shaw. _

Her name is in Root’s voice, The Machine having taken it from a previous conversation. She doesn’t revel in the death of her torturer, her abuser. She gets the job done and then leaves no trace of her existence at the crime before rushing off to find Root. To find her family.

\---

Harold comes back from the dead. With Samaritan gone he finally deems it safe to tell his once-fiancé some semblance of the truth. Shaw is surprised that Grace Hendricks takes it so well. The wedding happens the next week. Root invites Shaw as her date.

“Sure, but I don’t dance.” Shaw warns her, cleaning her guns as an excuse to not look at Root. They’re still dancing around one another, to the point where it’s become a kind of game. Well. More of a game than before, now that the threat of Samaritan is gone. She feels Root’s fingers trail across the back of her neck and suppresses a shiver.

“That’s not true, you dance across my mind all day.” 

Shaw can hear the satisfied grin in Root’s voice as she pulls out another of her awkward pick up lines and Shaw can’t help but grin, endlessly surprised at how lame Root can be and how endearing she finds it. Her hand stops polishing the inside of the barrel and reaches up to her shoulder, resting on top of Root’s.

 

“You’re the worst” is what Shaw yells with a smile at Root’s back, taking the time to appreciate the girl’s silhouette.

“I know!” is what Root yells back over her shoulder, off to the shops to buy her outfit for the wedding.

 

“I love you” is what Shaw means as she yells with a smile at Root’s back.

“I know!” is what Root yells back.

\---

In an unplanned happenstance, they both wear suits to the wedding. Shaw is in the traditional masculine black tie, waistcoat and all and she looks pretty good if she does say so herself. She’d even used some of Harold’s money to have it tailored. Root steals the show, though. She steps out in a midnight blue suit with a matching tie and not only does Shaw’s mouth go a little dry but she now understands the blue cuff links that Root left on her side of the bed. 

“Schrödinger said that at its base level, the universe isn't made up of physical matter; just... shapes. I thought that might make you feel better.” Root whispers in her ear as the camera-man urges them to smile. Shaw quickly slips an arm around Root’s waist and begrudgingly smiles for the flash for a few times before turning her head to search Root’s face. She raises an eyebrow and Root smirks, an action that draws Shaw’s eye for longer than she’d care to admit. She tears her eyes from Root’s mouth, her anxieties betraying her, and Root nods slightly. One day she’ll get this whole romance thing right. The moment passes, as it usually does, and Root drags her by the hand to find Reese and their seats. Shaw looks around at her little family as the wedding march starts.

At the reception, Root gets her to dance. Or rather, forces. Shaw has just taken her jacket off and unbuttoned her waistcoat, showing off her tie and suspenders, when Root grabs her hand and pulls her into the thick of the dance floor.  She should have seen it coming, she supposes, and she almost loses her cool as she’s trapped with a wall of bodies on all sides. Then Root is close to her and she can’t say she minds that much. The music takes over and they begin to dance together, a whirling, twirling, half ballroom-half grinding type dance that makes Shaw feel light headed. Every so often there’s a tug in her gut when Root comes closer than usual and Shaw has to twirl the girl away from her just to find a way to breathe again. At least the lively songs are easy. It’s the slow ones that are difficult. Their fronts are pressed together, chest to chest. Her arms encircle Root’s waist and Root’s hands meet at the base of Shaw’s neck. She’d count the places where they’re touching but it would probably take a lifetime. (She’s tempted to try, if it means a lifetime in Root’s arms.)

“... A shape, you know? Nothing firm.” She hears, shuddering as Root’s lips ever so slightly touch her right ear. The girl really knows how to push her buttons. “What it means is the real world is essentially a simulation anyway. ... I like that idea. That even if we're not real, we represent a dynamic. A tiny finger tracing a line in the infinite. A shape. And then we're gone.” She lightly tugs Shaw’s ear between her teeth and Shaw’s heart drops to her gut. Root pulls back, their eyes meeting. Is it cliché of her to say that the world disappears? Maybe. Yet that’s how it feels as Root, her safe place, looks more terrified in this moment than Shaw has ever seen her. That makes her chuckle a little, if she’s honest. Root has faced so many challenges and “bad guys” and even looked her own death in the face, yet she’s scared of Shaw rejecting her. As if she would. The air is thick between them and they’re being so obvious as they stare at each other’s lips, yet Shaw still can’t bring herself to initiate the kiss. She leans her head forward a little and hopes that Root will take the hint, almost pleading with her eyes. 

And then. 

And then.

And then Root's lips are on hers and clichés be damned, it’s like goddamn fireworks are going off. Shaw kisses back hungrily, giving as good as she gets and sliding her left hand from Root’s waist to the small of her back as she pulls Root even closer. Root’s hands slide into her hair as the kiss ends only due to the annoying fact that they need to breathe.

“We’re a four alarm fire.” Shaw smiles, her lips tingling from the force of the kiss. Root smiles back and kisses her again, softly. Shaw grins into the gentle treatment. Root feels like home.

“You owe me twenty, Harold” They hear and turn to see Reese and the newly wedded Mrs and Mr Finch grinning happily.

Shaw flips him the bird. He genuinely laughs.

\---

“So that’s supposed to make me feel better? I’m a shape?” Shaw asks Root later on as they return to their subway home. Root doesn’t reply until she’s dragged Shaw into their bedroom and sat on the bed with her arms behind her propping her up. Shaw thinks it might be an invitation.

“Yeah,” Root raises an eyebrow, her eyes trail down Shaw’s body, “and darlin’, you’ve got a great shape.” She grins and honestly? Only Root could make such a lame line sound so incredibly sexy. Shaw slowly takes off her jacket, only half trying to tease. Root licks her lips and crooks a finger in a come hither motion, a smirk painted on her face. Shaw’s goal, she decides, is to fuck that smirk from Root’s mouth. She straddles Root’s thighs and wraps the midnight blue tie around her fist, pulling her close and meshing their lips together. Root is hungry, she’s waited so long for this and tries to speed things up but Shaw was forced into that kind of encounter far too many times. This time she wants slow. She wants intimate. The rushed table sex can come at a later date. She hopes. Shaw keeps the kiss agonisingly slow, her teeth gently pulling at Root’s bottom lip as she feels her unbuttoned waistcoat being pushed off her shoulders. Root’s hands grasp at her suspenders and pulls Shaw’s body flush against her own, moving to kiss Shaw’s cheek. Shaw’s Jaw. Oh, Shaw’s neck. Shaw tilts her head back to allow Root a little more access, enjoying the dangerous feeling of teeth pressed against her jugular as her long fingers deftly unwind themselves from Root’s tie and then remove the tie altogether. (Much to her chagrin, Root looks good enough to eat in that thing.) Shaw starts to deftly remove buttons from button holes on Root’s pressed white shirt as Root abandons her assault on Shaw’s neck in favour of removing clothing. Suspenders are pulled off shoulders, the tie is slipped undone, the shirt is pulled out of its tucked in position, hands slip under clothing, fingers run admiringly across toned back muscles, Shaw gasps a little. Root grins. Shaw somehow manages to concentrate for long enough to undo all of the buttons on Root’s shirt and she hardly has time to take in the magnificent sight that is Root’s semi-bare torso when lips are on hers and drawing fire down into her gut. The slow pacing Shaw originally set for them speeds up a little as Root maneuvers her into being on the bottom and then focuses on getting Shaw out of her clothes. Not that she minds. Root’s lips feel so soft on her skin, she’s practically turning to jelly in the woman’s hands. Especially when she reaches that extremely sensitive patch of skin just in between the valley of Shaw’s breasts and licks. Root nudges Shaw’s legs open and then kneels before her, as though she is about to begin worshipping a Goddess. The burning in Shaw’s gut dips lower. Her mouth goes dry. She gulps. Root sits back a little on her haunches, waiting for Shaw to give the okay for the removal of more clothing, ever respectful and careful even now. Maybe it’s impatience or maybe she just wants to see the look on Root’s face but Shaw does more than give consent, she reaches behind her and unhooks her bra. Root grins. Shaw’s lips crook at the corner in response, licking her lips and nodding at fingers return to the zip on her trousers. She refrains from touching herself as her trousers are discarded and suddenly. Suddenly there’s only a thin layer of flimsy fabric between Root’s mouth and where she needs to be touched. Shaw watches, dry mouthed, as her partner, her colleague, her safe place, her  _ Root _ inches her underwear down. 

And then.

And then.

She stares. Root just goddamn stares at her with as much subtlety as she’s ever had, which is to say none whatsoever.

“You like what you see?” Shaw asks, leaning back on her arms to open up her body. She means it as an invitation, obviously. Root doesn’t have to be asked twice. Shaw moves backwards so that she can lie down with her head on the pillow, taking in the sight of a dishevelled and, annoyingly, still mostly clothed Root. The dampness between her legs becomes ever more imminent. Shaw closes her eyes.

“You know I always have, Sameen” comes the cute reply and then the bed dips. And then Root’s lips are on hers again. And then a thigh is pressed between her legs and she can’t help but cant her hips into the new pressure. Root’s kisses become more purposeful, more searching. Her tongue skates across Shaw’s bottom lip in askance, taking full advantage when it is allowed access. Her left hand explores every inch of Shaw’s skin that it can reach as they kiss, her right propping her so that she’s not exerting too much pressure on the woman beneath her. God, she’s wanted this girl beneath her for so long. Her kisses begin to move downwards, lingering on Shaw’s cheek, shaw’s neck, shaw’s collarbone. Root’s particularly pleased when a swipe of her tongue on Shaw’s nipple gets her a throaty moan in response. So she does it again as she grinds her clothed thigh ever so teasingly into Shaw’s crotch. Shaw’s hands pull at Root’s clothing, looking for some kind of purchase as feather tendrils of heat and pleasure run across her body. 

“Can you get on with it?” She half growls, half begs.

“I thought you wanted slow?” A pause.

“Slow be damned.”

That is all Root needs to hear. Her kisses become feverish, dipping ever lower on Shaw’s toned and scarred body. Sometimes she stops to mark a particularly nice looking patch of skin but for the most part she just drops lower and lower and

Stops.

Fucking tease. 

Shaw cants her hips and is about to growl again when all too suddenly, fingers are parting her folds and a strong tongue is running from the bottom of her opening up, up, up and circling around her clit. Shaw  has never been particularly religious, but she’s almost certain this is what heaven feels like. The pace Root has set is relentless… and exactly what Shaw needs, if she’s being honest. Which right now, she’s not much of anything. Her eyes closed, she focuses on the feeling of what Root is doing to her, the movements of the tongue on her. Root’s delighted when she receives a moan for slowly slipping a finger into Shaw’s slick opening.  Shaw is close. It’s embarrassing to admit but Root does something ridiculous to her and she’s unbearably close to coming already, if only the little minx would choose a rhythm and stick to it. As it is, Root keeps changing it up and it’s pissing her off. Well. It would be pissing her off. If it wasn’t so enjoyable. She almost comes when Root adds another finger, sliding them hard and curling them just so in a kind of come hither motion. Almost. Root knows it, too; Shaw can tell from the way Root smiles against her skin. Shaw really hates her sometimes.

“Come on, sweetie.” Root whispers and the coil in Shaw’s gut tightens. She’s so close, so close, she just needs. She needs. Needs. Root stops the ministrations with her tongue and Shaw wants to murder her. Until lips envelope her clit and suck and that’s exactly what she needs for the wave of her orgasm to crash down on her. Her eyes screw shut, her whole body tenses, her back arches a little and a strangled moan that could maybe be construed as Root’s name jumps out the back of her throat and into existence. Root helps her through the orgasm, her fingers working lazily to bring Shaw down from her high as she laps gently at Shaw’s clit, causing aftershocks to ripple through her lover’s body. Shaw smiles.   
  
“You know that steak joint I mentioned?”  Root grins and begins removing her clothes as slowly as her aching center will allow, giving Shaw a show. She knows exactly which steak joint Shaw is referring to. 

“Yeah?” She slides on top of Shaw, now as naked as the woman beneath her, and kisses her gently.

“Their steak isn’t better than that orgasm.” Root’s laughter pearls through the air, pure and sweet. Shaw kisses her in the softest way she knows how and then flips them. She takes a moment to admire Root with her halo of brunette hair and kiss bruised lips before claiming Root’s mouth as her own and running course fingers down Root’s body and slipping two fingers into her. Root’s sharp intake of breath allows Shaw’s tongue to touch her own and she smiles at the general intimacy of the entire situation when Shaw’s fingers begin to move at a steady pace, her thumb brushing Root’s clit at random intervals. It doesn’t take Shaw long to figure out exactly which strings to pull whilst she’s playing Root like a harp and she decides to get a little more aggressive, biting into her lover’s shoulder with enough force to leave indents. Root bucks her hips. 

Interesting.

Shaw makes sure to not let her fingers slow down as she experiments with Root’s sensitive spots, biting at her jugular, her ear, her lips. She gets good reactions for all places; a hearty moan and a hip buck. Shaw grins. She trails the tip of her tongue from the bite mark on Root’s neck to the top of Root’s breast, almost unperceptible clenching around her fingers warning her that Root is extremely close to coming. Shaw’s tongue darts out to flick across Root’s left nipple, tapping it rapidly but lightly.

“Shaw!” Root’s voice sounds desperate and almost strangled as she all but begs for release. The coil in her gut is wound as tight as it will go and she needs that extra push to send her over the edge. 

As if Shaw can resist.

Shaw goes for it, biting down on Root’s nipple; just hard enough for it to hurt but for a short enough time that pleasure soon follows. And then Root is coming around her fingers and scratch what she thought before. She’s now certain that this. This is what heaven probably feels like; the woman you love coming undone beneath you, muffling her cries of your name in your shoulder. Her stomach tenses and Shaw can’t help but lick those toned abs, curling her fingers to keep Root at that place of ecstasy. She can’t help but think everything has been worth it, just for this moment. Shaw removers her fingers from between Root’s legs, fully aware of brown eyes following her movements. She licks them clean and then settles down into Root’s arms, the ghost of a smile on her face.

_ Will she ever feel safe again?  _

"Listen, all I'm saying that is if we're just information, just noise in the system... we might as well be a symphony." Root mumbles against her collarbone, a hand tracing random mathematical shapes across Shaw’s skin. Shaw smiles. Well, she can’t argue with that.

\---

“I love you” is what Shaw says, kissing Root awake on the morning after their wedding day before twisting the ring on her finger and heading out to their kitchen to make Root a coffee.

“I know” is what Root replies with a smile, hating to watch her wife leave their bed… But loving to watch her go.

 

_ will she ever feel safe again? _

 

_ Yes. Yes she does. _


End file.
